


Words Left Unspoken

by myriddin



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Injury, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:35:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriddin/pseuds/myriddin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Jon x Sansa Remix. A Daredevil AU (Matt Murdock/Claire Temple). </p><p>Yet another injury, yet another circumstance where he was left longing for everything he knew he couldn’t have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Left Unspoken

Jon just barely held back a hiss of pain as his wounds were jostled, despite Sansa being as careful as possible as she helped him onto the couch. “Do I even want to know what happened?” Sansa asked wryly, sitting herself on the coffee table in front of him.

Jon grimaced as she peeled off his mask, but didn’t feel like lying even knowing she wouldn’t like the answer. “The Bastard got in a few lucky hits.”

Her lips pursed, but she had little other reaction as she kept her attention on the sluggishly bleeding cut on his forehead. She’d long since stopped protesting his one-man crusade against the Boltons, Freys, and Lannisters. She’d equated arguing with him about his vigilantism to fighting with a brick wall, before anything to do with his work as the White Wolf became verboten between them.

They were silent as she worked, cleaning and placing a butterfly bandage over the shallow cut. She was wiping away the blood on his face when she took him by surprise with one last comment.

“So the flaying knives aren’t just rumors then?”

Jon winced. His pained silence was answer enough.

Sansa nodded, combing her fingers through his hair to smooth the dark locks back against his forehead. Jon barely restrained himself from leaning into the touch.

“Sansa…”

Sansa looked up at him, the look in her eyes familiar. But it was a familiarity he could not afford to indulge, not anymore, and he only hesitated for a moment before shaking his head, expression apologetic. Sansa shrugged, the look in her eyes sad but understanding as she continued on.

“Off with the shirt, Snow. Let’s see what else you’re hiding.” At his dubious expression, she crossed her arms, glaring at him pointedly. “Not the first time you’ve stripped for me, Jon. Get a move on.”

He snorted as he conceded, allowing her help in pulling the torn shirt over his head. He breathed a sigh of relief when his torso was bared to the apartment’s AC, watching as she began to prod his ribs. It was hard to fight the urge to breathe her name again, lean closer to feel her warmth and her touch in ways that were anything but clinical. But he was already pushing his luck considering Sam had called her over. Sansa had worked hard to leave behind the darkness he surrounded himself with. She had forged a new life and identity to leave the past behind,

He wondered idly if he was the sole person left in the world to call her Sansa, if she would live solely in the world of Alayne Stone if he didn’t keep ending up on her doorstep like a bad penny.

He let himself surrender to the feeling of drowsy comfort her touch evoked, an inner warmth that soothed and relaxed. But even quicker that it had begun, the warmth faded, leaving him cold as she abandoned the contact. His wounds cleaned and bandaged, he obediently ate the sandwich she fixed quickly in the kitchen and swallowed the painkillers she offered, His head swam, but still he felt strangely numb as she gently eased him back onto the couch before she started packing her things.

“Get some rest,” she instructed gently, brushing a hand through his hair before turning toward the door. “Sam said he’d be coming by in a couple hours.”

“Sansa! Wait a minute.”

She stopped and looked back at him inquisitively. The words clogged his throat, months of longings and regrets, and finally he managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

She smiled softly, a wistful glint in her eyes that threatened an avalanche of those words at his lips once more, but Jon fought against the impulse with everything he had. He wouldn’t drag her back in.

“You’re welcome, Jon.”

And then she was gone. Jon sighed, doing as he was asked as he lay back and closed his eyes. His last thought before he drifted into a drug-induced sleep was of her smile and distant longings for what-could-have-been.


End file.
